


Intoxicating

by paradoxicalconverse



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, BUT LIKE NOT REALLY I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE IT, F/F, I like it though, if anything it's really just angst, like five words of smut, not really - Freeform, not really fluff either, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradoxicalconverse/pseuds/paradoxicalconverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moments/seconds in Laura's mind leading up to when Carmilla turns her. (This is my first time writing Hollstein AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH so I really hope I got this right.) Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intoxicating

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me request/recommendations/critiques at please-say-nine.tumblr.com :)

   The smell of her is intoxicating. Every time you’re pressing yourself into her, your lips weaving a seamless pattern into hers, you’re dizzy. She smells like the age of the earth itself, like pain and melancholy wrapped up into 334 short years of living. Kissing her would almost seem sad, if you weren’t aware of the undercurrent of emotions that thrum through her undead, lifeless heart and pulse in her comatose veins when you do. Blood no longer seeps underneath her skin the way it once did, its predecessor solely a complex of emotions, tinged with fear and regret from past experiences that are untold and will remain so for centuries, untouched by human ears. But along with said emotions flows another, much harder to recognize—relief. You didn’t understand it at first, at the first press of your lips against hers. You tasted hurt and anger and fear and so much relief on her tongue that you were confused. You didn’t pull away, of course, because that was not something you ever planned on doing ever again, but you were still baffled by all of the sudden unexpected feelings flooding from her tongue onto yours. Initially, you’d thought that the reprieve she was experiencing was for herself, which was understandable. She’d had several quarrels with death, but had walked away from each one of them so far, thank god for whatever deity above allowed her to do so. It would only make sense that she felt such a great sense of relief that she had survived. Later that night, though, as she’d moaned your name quietly into the pillow she had pressed against her face, and you swore that it was the sound of the stars singing, you understood, fully and completely. She would not have cared if she had died that day. The consolation she was feeling was for you. She wouldn’t have cared if it was her life that had been stolen from her—but if it was yours, she would have had to live through eternity with that guilt weighing down on her chest. The emotions rolling from her tongue to yours were for you. You had lain against her that night, feeling her chest rise and fall as she slept, breathing without inhaling, a simple muscle memory, and you had felt so small, so microscopic in comparison to her yet so significant at the same time, and you hadn’t stopped smiling since.

You press yourself into her body further, inhaling her scent deeply as you whisper untold secrets with your lips against hers. Your head is spinning. A human can only take upon themselves so much sadness at once, can only bear the burden so long before they collapse under the cumbersome weight. And good god, her memories are heavy. You figure that you should be angry at her, for easing what she has on her shoulders onto yours. Instead, you’re grateful, and willing take everything she has to offer. She’s not a very open creature, preferring the dark to the light, the silence to the noise, so the moment you feel even the slightest pressure from her beginning to tip over to you, you accept all of it that you can. These feelings are the closest you’ll ever get to even beginning to try to see what makes her tick. You’ll never understand her, no, but you can try.

You would spend all of eternity trying to understand her if she would let you.

God, you love her.

You never thought you would. She was arrogant, abrasive, and yet, you wouldn’t trade her if the entire world was against you. Because she’s yours, she always has been, and that word sounds so beautiful to you, so much so that you have to pull away from her mouth and smile against her teeth for a moment, trying to catch your breath and all of the thoughts flitting through your mind. Her thumb is tracing small patterns over your hipbones where her hands have encircled themselves, and it takes you a moment to realize that she’s speaking. She’s telling you to back out, that she’s lived and she’s understood and this isn’t what you want. Eternity, for what it’s worth, is not what it is made out to be. You shake your head, knowing full well what you need. She looks angry, upset, attempting to find words to express how much she wants you to step back, to cede. This isn’t what you want, this isn’t what you want, this isn’t what you want.

You’re right, you tell her. I don’t want this. I want you. And this, you know for sure, is the only way to attain that. This paradoxical way of living, of dying so you can live forever, taking your last breath so that you’ll never need them again, this is the only way you can get what you truly want, what you know you will always want, for the infinite amount of days that you continue to live, the one thing you’ll only ever need—her.

Even flustered she’s beautiful. She’s trying to think of responses to the rush of words that just implanted themselves into her brain, but she can’t. You know she understands more than anyone you’ve ever known, and that she has far less realizations to encounter in life than you do, but you’re willing to look for them, as long as she is by your side for every step of the way.

You’re sure, she confirms, you’re sure that this is what you want, and her words sound like the stars singing. The sound is beautiful, tinged with pain and melancholy, but underneath it, 334 years of knowledge strain to be heard.

You nod, pressing your body as close to hers as you possibly can. You’ve always been sure. You do not want this. You want her, and if this can provide that to you, you will accept it with open arms. You will jump into the abyss with your eyes closed, because you know that she will catch you.

Her nonexistent breath hitches in her throat at how firmly your head bobs.

The last word in your mind is eternity as her fangs sink into your neck.


End file.
